Catsitting Daisy and Zoey again. Adorable things. Sadly, it appears that their dry food has not simply been hidden from me – a classic prank! – it has actually been locked in a closet which I cannot open. Hmm. I can’t help but wondering if, perhaps I do manage to jimmy the lock (?!), I might find a spectacular Halloween surprise inside.

OMINOUS MUSIC.

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Some Time Later…

A-HA! A text message from the owner reveals the secret: a trick doorknob that won’t turn, but will submit to extreme tugging. Eat up, kitties.

Last night I pulled an Andrew when I actually threw up in my mouth while on the treadmill and had to finish the last third of my run breathing past a chunk of bile that was lodged in my windpipe. Good times!

Watching the Food Network is torturous when it’s 9pm, you’ve only just gotten home, and the cupboard is bare. With a huge tub of curry noodle soup delivered through the rain via unhelmeted immigrants on bicycles, it’s fun.

In just 62 more miles, I get to buy new running shoes! Hope I don’t get horrendously injured before then. To this end, I have taken to increasing the incline rather than the speed on the treadmill.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever experienced a runner’s high. There’s about a 2-minute window of everything not sucking that occurs around minute 12 of the whole 30-minute ordeal. The other 28 minutes are spent counting backwards by sixty and trying to focus on music videos that are paced too slowly to hold my attention. Yes, not even MTV editing can keep me from realizing that the whole situation just sucks.

Guilty secret: I read Jane Eyre on an exercise bike during my high school years. I still hate exercise bikes, but I liked Jane Eyre, at least until the last third.

Choosing just the right mantra for meditation. Really, there’s nothing nearly as tension inducing as lying in relaxation pose, repeating the word “peace” or “love” to yourself while unable to quell the little voice that keeps saying “STUPIDEST. MANTRA. EVER.”